First Encounter
by androidilenya
Summary: Shortly after leaving the Ring to Frodo, Bilbo travels to Rivendell to spend some time in the Elves' company. There he meets a certain Ranger for the first time. The two of them quickly become friends. Oneshot and fairly pointless.


**Excerpts from the Lay of Leithian are word-for-word from The Silmarillion. Excerpt from the poem of Beren and Lúthien are likewise from The Fellowship of the Ring. I own none of the characters, settings, or references.**

**Enjoy and Happy New Year! **

* * *

_"You are always welcome in Imladris, little master. Make what use of your time here as you will."_

Elrond's words echoed in Bilbo's mind as he paced back and forth, bare feet silent on the cool stone of the balcony floor. Pausing, the hobbit gazed over the stone railing at the water falling over the rocks, tinted silver by the stars above. Then he snorted and resumed pacing.

"Ah, but it's no use having all the time in the world if this foolish mind of mine can't be coaxed into creativity," he sighed, absentmindedly fumbling for his pipe. Pipe-weed often helped him think.

The cool night air whispered through the columns and Bilbo drew his coat tighter. His fingers crept into his pocket by habit, seeking a cold metal that was no longer there.

_It was for the best that you gave the Ring to Frodo. Gandalf was right._

And it was true that since leaving the Shire and coming back to Rivendell, the _stretched_ feeling had disappeared. And though his hair seemed whiter by the day, he felt freer than he had in years.

Sighing, Bilbo leaned back against a pillar, gazing up at the frosty stars. He had left the warm comfort of the fire in his room and the bright merriment in the Elven Hall, had sought the open air to stir his creativity... but so far nothing much had come of it.

"_He chanted a song of wizardry,/Of piercing, opening, of treachery_..." he muttered, blowing a breath out of his mouth and watching it condense in a silver cloud. "_Revealing, disclosing_- oh, confusticate it, that can't be the proper translation of that word. Now what was it...?"

"Uncovering," a voice said suddenly from behind him. "_Revealing, uncovering, betraying/ and sudden Felagund stood there swaying..._ the Lay of Leithian, correct?"

The hobbit turned, chewing contemplatively on the end of his pipe, showing no surprise at the sudden intrusion. "Aye. I'm working on translating that, you know. Or maybe you don't. But either way, it seems you beat me to it." And now he turned, looking up at the man that had appeared so silently behind him.

A slight smile crossed the man's face. "I would hardly say that."

Bilbo considered him, taking in the dusty clothes and tall, proud bearing. The man's dark eyes flashed with a keen light as he, too, looked the hobbit up and down.

"A halfling," the man noted.

"Hobbit, if you please... Dúnadan. Man of the West, no?" Bilbo nodded, puffing on his pipe. "Númenorean. You must be the one Glorfindel mentioned was coming. Aragorn, the Ranger. I saw you at the feast tonight." There seemed to be a feast every single day in Rivendell. It was part of what made it such a perfect place to live, no doubt.

Aragorn inclined his head, acknowledging the naming. "You have the advantage of me, then. Might I ask you what you are called?"

"Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins of the Shire." He blew a smoke ring with no small amount of pride. "Good thing you're here. I needed someone to help me with my translation." Just like that, he gestured for Aragorn to sit.

Looking slightly amused, Aragorn lowered himself onto the bench beside Bilbo. "You seemed to be doing fairly well without my help."

The hobbit ignored this. "I had a small problem further on in the Lay, where it mentions Eressëa. There aren't exactly many things that rhyme with that, and it has to rhyme if I want to preserve the original tone. Thoughts?"

Aragorn considered this, dark eyes fixed on some point in the distance. "If I remember correctly, the line before, when translated, ends with the word 'sand', does it not?"

Bilbo's eyes brightened. "Ah! I see what you hint at, my friend!" He set aside his pipe in his excitement. "_Beyond the western sea, on sand/ on sand of pearls in Elvenland. _Perfect! And that's a common translation of that word, too."

The expression of excited discovery on the elderly hobbit's face made Aragorn smile, washing years from his care-worn face. "Perfect... my friend."

"Well, let's not stop now!" Bilbo grinned. "I do believe you have given me just what I need to continue!"

* * *

"A very unusual and intriguing person, Master Bilbo is." Elrond's voice shook Aragorn from the half-sleep he had fallen into after Bilbo had wandered off to bed. The Ranger stood to face the Elf. To the east the sky was beginning to lighten- the two of them had sat outside for almost the entire night.

"I am glad you directed me to him, Master Elrond. I am much enriched for the experience." There was a faint smile on his face. "I have not thought so deeply about the Lay of Leithian in years."

Elrond met his gaze, a stern look in his eyes. The Elf always seemed annoyed by something, of course, so Aragorn didn't take it personally. "The Release from Bondage. One of the ancient Tales. I did not know he was translating it."

Aragorn nodded. "_Then the gloom gathered, darkness growing/in Valinor, the red blood flowing_... that is as far as we got. he has promised that he will continue to work with me after he has broken his fast tomorrow."

"The Kinslaying is a dark topic for one such as him to dwell on."

"I wonder if he would see it that way." The Heir of Isildur laughed softly, looking eastwards.

* * *

"Dark? In and of itself, of course!" Blibo pushed his plate away, wiping crumbs from his mouth with his napkin. "But that's hardly what the Lay is about. Tis merely a passing reference, that is. The story as a whole... now, that's a marvel!"

"You mean Beren and Luthien." It wasn't a question.

"A story of two people- not great rulers, not gods, just people- changing the fate of the world! Not to mention the fact that they found true love, etcetera." Bilbo shook his head, a faraway smile on his face. "Tis oft the way with the old stories. That's what makes them so captivating."

Aragorn looked at the hobbit, perhaps a touch surprised to hear such profound comments from someone like this.

"I translated a bit more last night. Seems to me you were looking an awful lot at Lady Arwen at dinner. Might've inspired me." Bilbo winked at Aragorn, striking a match and setting it to his pipe.

"_The leaves were long, the grass was green  
__the hemlock-umbels tall and fair,  
__and in the glade a light was seen  
__of stars in shadow shimmering.  
__Tinúviel was dancing there  
__to music of a pipe unseen..._"

Aragorn closed his eyes, a soft smile on his face as Bilbo continued.

* * *

"Leaving so soon?"

"I must. The Enemy never sleeps, and therefore his foes cannot afford to, either." Aragorn swept the long cloak over his shoulders and pinned it there with a few practiced motions of his long fingers.

"Come back soon. I quite enjoyed our time translating together. You have a very nice grasp of the relationships between the Common Tongue and Quenya and a wonderful ear for poetry." Bilbo adjusted his shirt thoughtfully, watching the man buckle on his sword.

"I, too, enjoyed it. Such warmth and companionship serve as a reminder of why we fight."

"Ah, but there is another reason you in particular fight, no?" Bilbo's eyes twinkled. "The Lady Arwen has already bid you farewell, no doubt."

"No doubt." The ghost of a smile flickered across Aragorn's face. "Fare thee well, Master Hobbit. Look with eagerness to my next coming and I shall do the same. Perhaps we will have more time to write something together." And with that he was gone, sweeping out of the hall into the chilly morning.

Bilbo watched the door swing shut, nodding to himself. Then, apparently addressing the empty air, he said, "I've thought up a bit of a poem to give you when the Evenstar finally weds you, Dúnadan. Best to hurry up and win the war so I can recite it for you."

He turned and wandered back through the corridors of Rivendell, soundless, a tiny figure all but lost amid the splendor of that Elven Haven. His lips moved, words flowing so quietly he himself could barely hear them.

"_When war was done he wedded her  
__and to the West she looked no more,  
to where the Elves left Middle-Earth  
and boats set sail from silver shore..._"

The hobbit frowned, taking out his pipe and regarding the rising sun, mouthing a few more words as if searching for a rhyme.

"Needs work. Perhaps after breakfast..."

* * *

**Hope you liked, review please. **

**My twentieth fic and my first for LoTR. Also the first of the new year! So I hope it was okay!**


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